I’m headed to the Alternative Press Expo (APE) on Sunday. Why? Well, I don’t know much about it, except that it’s all about alternative comics and graphic novels. And you know what “alternative” means!

Dirty!

So, checking out some really cool, artistic dirty books and finding out what kinds of people (besides geeky, apparently-voyeuristic bloggers) attend these things seems worth the $7 price of admission.

I looked over the APE two-day speaker schedule and recognized exactly one name… that of Art Spiegelman, the creator of Maus and of the famous post-9/11 New Yorker cover. Now, this guy is legitimately famous. Maus won him a Pulitzer and is widely read in academia.* Time named him one of its 100 most-influential people in 2005.

Unfortunately, Art is speaking on Saturday, and I’m otherwise-engaged that day. My uncle passed away recently, and on Saturday I’ll be scattering his ashes over the Pacific whilst on a whale-watching trip. (One of his “to-dos” in life was to go whale watching, and he never got around to it.)

Before you start picturing some sentimental sunset scene of my solemnly releasing the ashes of my (wonderful, funny, and smart) uncle upon a light breeze as noble whales swim in the distance… know that things probably won’t be so poetic. The sentiment will be there, believe me, but the scene might be a little more… furtive. I don’t know for sure, yet, but scattering human remains on the bay might be considered “dumping”. I’m sure my uncle would prefer a low-key-yet-meaningful departure to one marred by shouting boat captains, angry port officials, and steep fines.

*Widely-read, except, perhaps, in the states commonly referred to as “red” and “southern”. You know those states. The ones where there tend to be a higher proportion of people who believe, as Mel “Jew-Hater” Gibson’s father put it, the Holocaust’s “all — maybe not all fiction — but most of it is.”

Don’t look at me like that, Southern Red States. I’m not making this shit up. I lived in the South for over ten years. Deal with this creationism-being-taught-in-schools thing, then come back and talk to me. Don’t be insulted if by that time I’m unavailable due to a bad case of being dead from old age.

Very sorry for your loss, GWS. I hope you enjoy watching the whales, as your uncle never did.

Side note: please do your best to refrain from using the Britishism, “whilst,” ever again. Will we ever, ever crawl out from the shadow of Britain’s Imperial rule? It’s enough that I have to deal with King Henry billeting his overbearing redcoats in my farm, and now this.